Puppet
by eridarn
Summary: Who was this man appearing in Matthew's dreams, threatening to control him? Matthew didn't want to hurt anyone, but at this rate, he feared the worst was to come for the ones he loved. -discontinued; being re-written under a different name.-
1. Prologue

_Who was this odd man in my dreams…?_

Matthew woke with a start, his head flying off the pillow. He panted slightly, his eyes wide and frightful from the nightmare he had just had. _Again. _  
He flung the comforter off of his body and hopped out of bed, quickly padding to his bathroom and flicking the lights on before splashing his face with water. He stood, leaning on the sink and still panting for a moment before calming himself down and looking at his reflection; at the dark circles camped under his increasingly lifeless, violet eyes.

The Canadian dried his face on a towel hanging on a hook wedged into the back of the bathroom door before flicking the lights back off and shuffling back to his room. The slightly blurry clock read four thirty-seven, and Matthew let a loud, tired moan resound through his otherwise empty house; besides Kumajirou, of course, but who knew where he was.  
Matthew lay back down, sighing and going back over what had happened that time. There was that guy again, that stranger who wouldn't leave him alone. The man who would tell him about horrible things and to do horrible things. It scared Matthew terribly; shook him to the core. Who was that guy, anyway…

Deciding, once again, it was just a dream, the violet-eyed man let out a sigh before rolling over and going back to sleep. He silently told himself he wouldn't have a dream with that stranger in it again, but his subconscious doubted him completely.

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, as the previous lack of sleep from before gave him a little push into the warm embrace of rest. This embrace soon grew cold, as that voice cut through his half-conscious mind, calling him that stupid pet name that he hated with a passion as of late.

_ "Mattie," _it cooed softly over and over again until the voice's piercing red eyes matched the voice and gained the rest of the stranger's face. Matthew saw himself in the third person in this dream, being approached by this older, taller man with the snow-white hair and daunting crimson eyes.

"_Mattie, aren't you tired of being forgotten,"_ he asked, circling around Matthew like a hungry vulture. The Canadian nodded stiffly in response, scared of this dream-man and of the solution he was bound to offer. "_Well then, make them remember you," _he prompted the blonde, observing him closely—at an uncomfortable distance for the younger man.

"H-how," he stammered, and the man gave him a sharpened grin.

"_They'll remember your name if you etch it into their skin, Mattie. That's just one way you could go about it,"_he suggested, ready to spew more torture methods if Matthew asked. He backed away, giving the smaller man room as he start to circle him again.

"I couldn't ever do that," the docile Canadian replied, looking with worry as he watched the nameless albino circle him.

_ "People have forgotten me as well; I know how you must feel, Mattie,"_ the albino purred in a smooth tone, again stopping in his tracks. "_If you don't do anything I say to make them remember _your_ name, maybe you could do it so everyone remembered _mine." The man clasped his bony, pale fingers behind his back, looking unto little Matthew like a predator. The Canadian shrunk in his gaze, becoming more fearful again. He needed to wake up, and soon.

"Well, w-what _is_your name," Matthew asked in a soft voice, gulping nervously and feeling a drop of sweat dribbling down his temple as the German started to laugh a harsh, sharp laugh.

"_My name is Gilbert. Gilbert Beilshcmidt," _the man said, red eyes flashing with pride as his own name rolled off his tongue. "_Prussia."_


	2. Chapter 1

With shaky breath, Matthew shuffled his way to the large room where all the other county representatives would meet. A World Meeting was to happen today, and someone had actually remembered to invite him. He was almost overjoyed when he received his call reminding him to go, even if it was just his own brother who simply said "World Meetin's tomorrow,' through whatever he was eating—almost definitely a burger.  
As the Canadian continued shuffling around the large—and easy to get lost in—building, he noticed himself walking with more perk, not dragging himself around like he was doing the few weeks before then. After the last dream he had—a few weeks before—his nightmares had all but disappeared completely, allowing him to get a decent amount of sleep. Slight color had returned to the sickly white that had inhabited his skin tone previously, and the dark circles under his eyes were less prominent. Not that anyone had noticed, though.

No one turned or even flinched as Matthew opened the big double doors to the meeting. No one paid any mind that he was late while he shuffled quietly to his seat next to his loudmouth brother who was still sneaking bites of his burger. No one's gaze focused away from the burly blonde German as he barked at the other nations during his presentation. Matthew, knowing nothing about what was going on, lost focus quickly and stared at the clock, perking up once more as the German finished his loud yelling. With a sigh, he dismissed the others and turned to walk stiffly out of the room.

"Eh, West!" a sharp voice called as Ludwig stopped just outside the door and seemed to train his gaze on someone sitting on the floor, against the wall. Matthew went rigid in his seat. He knew that voice…

"What do you want, _bruder_," the blonde said in his thick, barely comprehendible accent. The Canadian man heard the same loud, piercing voice laugh, and he covered his ears, quickly getting up and rushing towards the door. He narrowly missed Ludwig in his haste to leave, and he continued walking briskly away, his hands still hovering near his head. Matthew was halfway down the hallway before the footsteps he heard chasing him gained a body as a hand on his shoulder swiftly stopped him and turned him around. He faced a sharp voice, daunting red eyes, and snow-white hair that were so familiar it made him sick to his stomach.

It was the man of his dreams, in the completely wrong sense.

"Hey, you," he started, his accent just as thick as Ludwig's. "I know you."

"Who are you talking to," the blonde said, a distance behind him. "I've never seen him before." The albino turned back, looking at his brother.

"Seriously? This is Francis' kid," he called back loudly. "He's here all the time."

"Oh," Ludwig mumbled, a bit deflated. "Well, leave him alone. It's time to go, G—"

"Gilbert," Matthew said airily, still borderline terrified at the man in front of him. The older man turned back at his name. "Gilbert Beilschmidt." The man he was addressing quirked an eyebrow at the Canadian.

"Yes," he answered, "That is the name of Awesomeness." He laughed again, his sharp, prideful chuckles making Matthew want to cover his ears again. The blonde German slapped a palm to his forehead and dragged it down his face with a groan.

"Gilbert, _now," _he ordered, steeping up and grabbing his older brother before dragging him out of sight and out of the facility. Matthew continued to stand in the hallway, still feeling sick and shell-shocked. Gilbert—Gilbert Beilschmidt—the unknown man terrorizing the Canadian man's dreams, just physically appeared in front of him. In the real world. He was a real person. And—even odder—they had never even met, and the German knew his name. _He remembered him._ It would have been unbelievable if it hadn't just happened.

Matthew panted slightly, some of the more gruesome and scarring memories of his dreams resurfacing and making him feel sicker than he already did. Feeling bile rise in his throat, he gagged and quickly stumbled to the nearby bathroom, where he crashed into an empty stall and retched; vomiting everything he had eaten that morning. The newly regained color once again drained from his face, and he stood leaned over the toilet, his hands shaking violently before flushing the former contents of his stomach away. He washed his hands and rinsed the horrible taste out of his mouth the best he could. All the Canadian could think about was getting home and locking himself up.

By the time the violet-eyed man arrived home, he had concluded that being reminded to come to this one meeting just to run into his oblivious tormenter was the universe's way of saying "Screw you, Matthew". Flopping into his bed with an unbearable headache and the taste of vomit still lingering in his mouth, the Canadian groaned loudly. He covered his head with his pillow, blocking the already scarce noise and kicking his shoes off, curling up on top of his covers. He just wanted to go to sleep. But what if meeting Gilbert while actually conscious triggered something…

Matthew groaned and told himself not to worry about it, just to cure him of his pounding headache. He squeezed his eyes shut harshly for a moment before relaxing considerably and clearing his head before he went to sleep.

He dreamt.

Matthew still had a slight headache in his dream, and he lay on the ground in DC, where the latest meeting had been. He was panting slightly again and he couldn't move, no matter how hard he tried. No one else was around; no one else was there to help the poor boy. He looked up as the albino turned the corner, around the building, coming in view as he walked up to Matthew, staring at the blonde on the ground. Lower than him. Gilbert grinned, toeing him with his boot as the Canadian struggled to try and move again. The German bent down and picked him up; standing with Matthew slumped against him when he started to talk.

"_Mattie," _he cooed, the same way as before, stroking the boy's hair as he whispered softly in his ear. "_You need more than just one person to remember you."  
_  
"W-Why," the Canadian stuttered, scared as he was helpless this time around.

"_Because you aren't satisfied, are you?"_ The Canadian did his best to shake his head. The attempt was a bit pathetic, but the older man accepted the try. Gilbert laughed dryly. "_You're not satisfied with just me knowing you?"_ Matthew blushed slightly at the question. The other man almost sounded… disappointed.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled quietly, and Gilbert grinned again.

"_I'll help you become known. Then you'll be happy."_


	3. Chapter 2

For the next few dreams, Matthew would start off on the ground, unable to move a muscle, and it would always end with him slumped helplessly against Gilbert in some manner. Sitting and leaning against his shoulder, hanging heavily on him while he stood, piggyback, and once the German had even lay down next to the smaller man.

_"I've given you enough time to think. It's been four days,"_Gilbert said, frowning slightly with impatience.

"No, no, please give me more time," Matthew pleaded, left on the ground as the albino loomed over him.

_"That is what you said yesterday,"_ he said harshly, narrowing his eyes and practically hissing, "_No more_."

"Gilbert!" the soft-spoken Canadian cried the name as loud as he could.

_"I said no!"_he yelled back angrily, considerably louder. Matthew shrunk back as much as he could, shaking his head quickly and still unable to move. "If you're not going to do anything about it, then I'm taking matters into my own hands." The blonde's widened momentarily, the previous gruesome suggestions Gilbert had made flashing through his head. What in the world was he planning on doing?

"Please, Gilbert, I just need more ti-" the Canadian cut himself of with his own cry as the albino all but snarled and stomped down on his fragile wrist with his heavy boot.

Matthew heard a popping noise ring out in the empty space they were in before dull pain seized his wrist and Gilbert let up. He had yelped, fearing that his wrist had been broken. The German looked hurt and angry, glaring at Matthew with other emotions swimming through his red eyes as well.

_"Did you think I'd purposely break you?" _Gilbert growled in a low voice. The younger man hesitated before nodding once, feeling a bit guilty. The German sighed heavily is response before turning and starting to walk away from the other.

_"You can wake up now," _he bitterly spat before turning and disappearing around a corner. Matthew again struggled to move before giving up and feeling himself regain consciousness.

Matthew woke up, lying on his wrist at an odd angle. He moved off of it hurriedly and gingerly rubbed his now sore wrist, a bit of fear welling up in him. _Did this happen because of the dream…?  
_  
The blonde shrugged it off, running his hand through his hair with a sigh and putting on his glasses. He got up, shivering as his feet touched the cool hardwood floor, and shuffled to the kitchen before opening his cabinets and rummaging through them. It's not like it was hard to find what he was looking for, really, but Matthew was a bit particular about finishing a box of pancake mix or a bottle of syrup before breaking open another. The opened ones were sometimes hard to find in all the rest.

He found some mix and finished off that box, having just enough for him and his polar bear. As he started making the batter, he expected Kumajirou to come running like a cat, plopping himself down at the blonde's feet and watching him cook with hunger in his black eyes. He became worried after a few more minutes passed and there was no sign of the overweight ball of fluff. No sound of light pawsteps running towards him, no squeaky voice asking who he was, no dull claws pawing at his pant leg, silently asking for a lick of pancake batter. The blonde finished cooking and left his plate out to cool before pulling himself away from his skillet to go look for his pet.

"Kumajirou," he called softly, again shuffling through the chilly house. He stopped walking as he had finished pacing through the entire house twice. He pulled a blanket around his shoulder and slipped on some shoes before going outside, hugging the blanket tighter around him as it had started to snow.

"It's going to be harder to find him in the snow…" the Canadian mumbled to himself, stepping into the old snow that had sat there for over three weeks at that point. He walked halfway around the house to the back yard before barely seeing the outline of his bear by squinting. As he took a few step closer, he noticed the snow colored red around the motionless animal. His eyes widened as large as saucers and he rushed to his side, softly touching his bear. Matthew knelt down and shook him carefully, hoping that he was only unconscious. He felt for a heartbeat, listened for a growl and watched for even a movement, and there was nothing. Absolutely no response.

"K-Ku-Kumajirou!" Matthew screeched, picking his bear up and wetting his cold, bare arms with fresh blood. He stood up, rushing the limp mass of white and bloody fur inside. He took a wet cloth and cleaned the bear up as best as he could, wiping his own teary eyes as he continued to stare at the white fur stained pink with the bear's blood. Matthew shrugged of his blanket, putting on a proper coat and grabbing a shovel made of wood and metal before, gain, scooping up his deceased best friend.

It took him a few hours to break into the frozen earth and dig a hole deep enough. The blonde wiped his bloody hands full of splinters on his thighs before kneeling in the wet snow and lowering his bear in. It took him another hour to bury the animal.

When he was finished, he wiped his brow and stared down at the upturned eatch mixed with snow, uttering a prayer in French.

"Sleep well," he finished in English. His tears burned down the man's freezing face and made holes in the snow beneath him. Matthew didn't want to leave him yet, but the now heavy snow soaking through his clothing and his trembling body thought otherwise. The Canadian got up shakily, going back into the house and changing before sitting on the windowsill overlooking the backyard that doubled as a gravesite. He watched the patch of dirt being covered in snow as if his bear would dig himself out and come back inside to eat his pancakes. Matthew wiped his eyes again and sniffled before going back to his room and locking the door. He lay down on his rug, staring at the ceiling, not showing any emotion.

He looked as lifeless as Kumajirou.

Another two hours passed before Matthew found himself falling asleep.

He was on the ground again, lying in the same position he fell asleep in. Gilbert was already next to him, looking unto Matthew with a stone cold expression. The face that usually struck fear into the blonde received no reaction.

"You look sad," the albino mumbled idly. Matthew gave no response. "What's wrong?" Gilbert tried again, kneeling next to the Canadian and asking a bit more sternly, as if he was demanding to know what was wrong with Matthew. He ignored Gilbert again, looking up and scarcely blinking.

"Matthew," the German said, just as sternly, "Answer me." Matthew's gaze barely shifted, and the older man narrowing his eyes, grabbing the side of Matthew's face and turning it to look at him. "Matthew!" the screamed, "God damnit, answer me!" The blonde's eyes focused and widened slightly in recognition and fear.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" he said, softening his tone just barely. Matthew pressed his lips in a thin line and Gilbert grimaced before throwing the Canadian's head back on the ground, making it bounce once. The smaller man winced and another tear rolled down his face before Gilbert growled and briskly walked away.

Matthew woke up with another pounding headache.


	4. Chapter 3

To avoid sleeping for the past three nights, Matthew had been doing all he could to keep himself awake. He watched movies, he went out to run, he drank coffee, he would try to talk to other countries with obscure sleeping schedules, and he cooked. He cooked an immense amount of pancakes. And without his bear to help him eat them, he would end up also having immense amounts of leftover food. There were tubs upon tubs of pancakes sitting around and taking up space in his little fridge.

On the fourth day, as Matthew slumped against the back of his couch with exhaustion, he got an idea on how to get rid of all his food. He would give them to the other countries. Good pancakes shouldn't go to waste, and this would give him a chance to make himself known to other countries. Maybe then Gilbert would leave him alone.

With new energy, the Canadian sprung from the couch and gathered the lot of the boxes into a large bag, along with quite a few little bottles of maple syrup for the countries that didn't have it. After making his multiple trips to carry them to his car, he started it and drove back down to Washington DC, where the countries having to travel back across the sea were still waiting for their ride.

"Hey, Alfred," he called, stepping into his brother's house. The other blonde tipped his head back over the back of his chair, getting a narrow view of who was at the door before lighting up.

"Hi!" he chimed, full of energy as he always was. Matthew shuffled over the slightly dirty carpet over to the elder of the two, giving him a small, shy wave. Despite Alfred and him being related, Matthew was still a bit shy around him, considering how loud and outspoken he was. "What's up, bro?" the American said, pausing his TV show and turning to fully face Matthew.

"I need to know what hotel everyone is staying at," he replied quietly. Alfred looked at him curiously, silently telling Matthew to go on. "I made pancakes and I want to give them to everyone. Y'know… for the people who don't eat pancakes back home…" he trailed off, finding himself getting even more uncomfortable.

"Aw, bro! You made pancakes? Bro, those things are so good; can I have some?" Alfred screeched excitedly, startling Matthew in his already slow, tired state. Matthew hesitated and nodded slowly.

"Y-yeah," he stuttered, "But only if there's extra, okay?" he mumbled, and Alfred beamed. He chuckled, still bursting with energy and excitement as he got up to go get the piece of paper that he had the hotel written on in case he needed to go see someone. He wrote it down again in his slightly messy handwriting and handed it to Matthew. The Canadian nodded to his brother before he went back to watching TV, and he slipped out the door and back to his car. He knew this hotel; he had stayed in it before when he was younger and didn't want to drive back home in the middle of the night. It wasn't too far away, but he wouldn't consider it luckily close either.

With a sigh, Matthew started his car again and drove off, almost falling asleep in the car during his 30 minute drive. Upon arriving to the hotel around dinnertime, he hopped out quickly and grabbed his bags to take inside. The entire hotel was filled with countries that had attended the meeting. With all of them kept in one place, giving all of them pancakes would still not be an easy task. Traveling up and down the stairs with heavy bags weighing his arms down would not be an experience the blonde would enjoy. He decided that next time he'd have to plan things more efficiently.

After going door to door and sitting down and talking with countries for longer than Matthew had bothered to remember, he reached the top floor. He knew the countries he hadn't seen yet were the ones he would dread talking to, and with a sigh and a wipe of his slightly sweaty brow, he motivated himself to do it.

First was Italy and his brother, Romano—those two gave him a show of obliviousness and bitterness towards each other yet politeness and forgotten compassion towards Matthew. South Italy had remembered his name once he had left them, which he was happy for. He had been the ninth person that day. Next was Spain, who acted mellow with the same politeness as the Italian brothers, He complimented Matthew's pancakes and had also remembered his name. Ten people, then. After that, France. He had eaten Matthew's pancakes numerous times before, so he decided not to give his Papa any. He did visit though, and the Frenchman had countless questions about Matthew's nonexistent love life. The Canadian carefully avoided questions that would upset him, like ones about his newly deceased bear. Francis let him go after almost forty minutes of chatting. Then there was England and his twelve-year-old son Sealand that Matthew had yet to meet. The boy's name was Peter and his adorable English accent made Matthew smile for a short amount of time. He offered some of his portion of food to Arthur, who waves the child off, seemingly annoyed. Matthew sat down with the child, who allowed himself to look hurt just as his father exited the room.

"I think Daddy's cross with me," he said softly, after that just moving his pancakes around his plate.

"I'm sorry, Peter. He acts like that to everyone, really. You just don't understand the way he works yet, I suppose," Matthew replied tenderly, looking unto the child with slight pity for having such poor treatment by his parent.

"Yeah, I know… It's just… I want to make Daddy happy," he mumbled, looking down at the table with sadness in his eyes. Matthew slid out of his chair and enveloped the child into a hug. Peter, a bit surprised, didn't hug back at first, but then returned Matthew's tight, comforting hug.

"I'm sorry, Peter. You know, he's my dad, too, and Alfred's dad. We're your big brothers, yeah? If you ever feel sad, come visit one of us," Matthew offered, and Peter let go of him and smiled. He nodded and thanked Matthew for the food and offer before the Canadian left.

After those two was Russia. Matthew had to build himself up before knocking on Ivan's door, hearing the bed creak from the inside before he opened the door, smiling childishly. Matthew gulped and said hello.

"Uh, yes, hello there. Would you like some pancakes," Matthew said, feeling a bit small next to the man towering over him. Ivan's smile grew, his violet eyes matching Matthew's flashing with nothing short of predatory.

"Oh, da," he said affirmingly, stepping aside to let Matthew in. The Canadian felt himself growing more uncomfortable by the minute as he unpacked some of the last pancakes and setting them on a paper plate for the Russian. He drizzled maple syrup over them and Ivan sat down, again smiling at Matthew before taking a bite. He hummed in delight and looked at Matthew with that same slightly creepy smile. "This is very good," he said, his heavy accent distorting the words. Matthew breathed a small 'thank you' out, fidgeting slightly in the awkward atmosphere. There was little dialogue shared between the two before Matthew carefully slipped out, physically feeling a weight off his shoulder being lifted. It came crashing back down as he realized the last person he had to visit: Germany.

He shuffled to the last room, thinking he'd heard some yelling in German coming from behind the door before he knocked. An obviously annoyed blonde opened the door, his blue eyes glowering as he failed to recognize Matthew. The Canadian gulped, his brain failing on his from exhaustion as he held up the bags of food.

"What is that," Ludwig said, his accent fresh and barely understandable from yes, yelling in German.

"Pancakes," Matthew uttered softly. "I made them myself… May I come in?" he asked softly, and Ludwig nodded, steeping aside for Matthew to enter. The other German man poked his head around the corner, looking at Matthew briefly.

"Oh, hi, it's you again," he said, addressing Matthew as if he had known him forever. Matthew quickly looked to the ground, his eyes widening in recognition. His legs became too heavy to function and he failed to move inside.

"Hey, guy, are you okay," Ludwig said, his voice still a bit harsh. Matthew opened his mouth to speak, only finding a strained breath able to escape. He dropped his bags and he hit the floor, his eyes closing soon after. Sleep snuck up and attacked him, pinning him to the ground and muddling his hearing as Ludwig started yelling again, at his brother and down the hallway for someone to get help.

_ "Mattie," _he heard the Prussian say into his ear, and the blonde's eyes snapped open. He found himself sitting in a chair and he scoot back away from the table separating the two. He could move. It was a considerable perk considering how unlucky he was with the past encounters with Gilbert. The white-haired man leaned back in his chair, scooping another bite of pancakes soggy with maple syrup into his mouth. _"These are really good, yeah? Ludwig doesn't like sweets, so I got them all to myself," _he said, smirking slightly. Matthew just looked at him, swallowing heavily after a moment. Gilbert stared back, narrowing his ruby eyes and his smirk grew wider, before Matthew broke his gaze away and the Prussian turned his attention back to his food.

_ "You passed out in the hallway," _Gilbert said, his mouth still full from the last bite, _"What's up with that?"_ Matthew glanced back up at him, taking a deep breath before answering with a hoarse voice from not using it in his dreams, as he had avoided it for days.

"I guess I was just tired," he said before clearing his throat. Gilbert snorted.

_ "Hell yeah you were. I can tell. I waited for four days for you to come back, and you never did," _he said, smirk disappearing again as his eyes grew dark. _"I was starting to wonder how you could go without dreaming for four full days. Then it hit me. You didn't even sleep."_ Matthew cleared his throat again, searching for an answer before remembering that he had regained the ability to move. He shakily stood out of his chair and tried to make a break for the door before his legs gave out and he found himself back on the ground, struggling to get up again. He heard Gilbert's chair scrape against the hardwood kitchen floor and Matthew had started to pant, fearful of what the relentless man would do this time.

Gilbert scooped Matthew up and all but flung him back into his chair, making the blonde's head hit the wall behind him as the force of his body weight drove him backwards. Gilbert stomped over to him angrily, slamming his foot on where he had sat before and leaning on his leg, glaring at Matthew.

_ "Where did you think you were going?"_ Gilbert said, almost menacingly as Matthew gulped again, looking up at the other man with fear evident in his eyes. He was angry, and the blonde knew it. This was not going to be pretty. They stared at each other for a few more minutes before Gilbert growled, pounding his fist and making his dished jump and clatter. _"Answer me!"_ he demanded.

"Away," Matthew mumbled almost inaudibly. The Prussian laughed right in his face, his breath smelling of the sweet syrup Matthew loved. He even made that wonderful smell terrible for him.

_ "Oh, you're not going anywhere, Mattie!" _he sang, and the Canadian's eyes started to water as he became more scared. Being in his dreams was becoming more and more like purgatory. He was convinced he was trapped in them. He was trapped in himself. _"You can't even wake up like you always do right now! Oh, this is too perfect." _

"Gilbert let me go. Please," Matthew said, leaning forward in his chair and looking at the older man with desperation swimming in his eyes. Gilbert laughed and shook his head before grabbing Matthew off of his chair once again and throwing him down on the table, knocking his dishes on to the floor and grinning as they shattered. The blonde struggled, finding himself again unable to move as Gilbert turned away from him, rummaging through the kitchen's drawers. The younger man lay paralyzed on the table, his face paling as Gilbert sported a knife from the drawer. He laughed and lunged for Matthew as if he would run away again, and he dragged the sharp tool across the flesh of the Canadian's cheek, making a long cut and listening as the blonde cried out, letting a couple of tears slipped from his eyes and his blood dripped down the side of his face and got in his hair.

_ "Matthew, you can't wake up. You can't run away like you always do. You can stay here and play with me now,"_ Gilbert sang, cutting the blonde again, on his shoulder.

"Gilbert, please," Matthew said, allowing more tears to slide across his face. "Please, let me go!" he yelled, on the verge of full-on begging for mercy. Gilbert could almost not speak through his laughter.

_ "No!" _he sang almost tauntingly, lifting Matthew's shirt and making a shallow line on his stomach. Matthew turned his head to the side, the blood from his first cut dripping down his cheek as he continued to cry. He started to recall the events from some of his first dreams, consisting of brutal beatings, but nothing like pulling knives on him. The two continues to talk back and forth with Matthew begging for Gilbert to stop, and the red-eyed man grinning and saying no before cutting him in a different place.

As Matthew felt he had lost enough blood that he would have been unconscious is reality, he watched Gilbert twirl the bloody knife around his fingers before licking the blade clean and looking at Matthew with a feral look in his eyes. He grinned before screeching '_Good morning!'_ and driving the knife into the Canadian's chest.

Matthew woke up screaming, and his friends with him in the hospital room rushed to his side and called for a nurse to come help. He cried and screamed; clinging to someone's chest he couldn't see in his sleepy fog and begging them not to put him back to sleep. A nurse came back in to find him thrashing and pulling tubes out of his arms. She had to have a few people hold him down while she slipped a drug into his mouth, weakening him and making him fall back asleep soon after.


	5. Chapter 4

Fearful of what Gilbert would do in the drug-induced, inescapable sleep, Matthew did try to stay awake as long as possible, which didn't last long. He was dragged back down into unconsciousness unwillingly and he panted in his sleep, making the people surround him a bit worried. The nurse told them to leave it be as she put the tubes back in his arms carefully, patching up the holes that they had previously left. Everyone grudgingly complied, relaxing as the panting stopped and Matthew relaxed considerably, sleeping even more peacefully than before, where he would look disturbed and like he was trying to scream and get away from something. Now, he looked completely fine. Content, even. No disturbances.

Matthew opened his eyes and squinted as the bright sun bore down on him. He sat up and looked around, taking in the field of wild flowers and the short stone wall not too far from where he was sitting. He stood up shakily, standing in that one spot for a moment before slowly shuffling towards the wall. He stopped in his tracks as he spotted someone there; a small figure he couldn't see well from the brightness of the place. He gulped and walked forward again, soon reaching the wall and looking at the little blonde boy dressed in black curiously. He looked up at Matthew, his bright blue eyes shining with a child's innocence. The Canadian sat down on the wall in front of the boy, crossing his legs and staring back at him, both not daring to say the first word.

Matthew finally built up the nerve to ask the little boy, "Where are we?" The little boy blinked, his dark blue eyes flashing with recognition for a split second. He turned his head, looking into the distance.

"Germany," he replied softly, and Matthew looked confused. He didn't even know what Germany looked like; he had never been. In all of the place he had seen Gilbert, he had known where he was, and he could verify is something was off. But, he had never dreamt a place he had never set foot in before. He wasn't even sure if this dream was accurate. What if Germany didn't look anything like this? Maybe he'd have to find out later. But enough of being geographically correct in his dream. _Who was this little boy?_

Matthew stared at the child before him, completely puzzled. He had no idea who this could be. Perhaps a lost child? He _did _look like he resembled Germany, and they _were_ in the country….

"May I ask who you are? What's your name?" Matthew asked tenderly as if he was talking to any old lost child. He just stared back at the Canadian, staying silent. Matthew repeated the question. "What's your name?" The child stopped staring at him and looked back into the distance, sighing.

"I don't have a name," he said before standing up, his heavy black cape billowing in the breeze. He turned towards Matthew once more, twisting his body so Matthew could see. He couldn't help staring at the large hole in the boy's chest, and he looked back up to his face quickly to not be rude. He again turned to look in the distance and he sighed. "I heard you screaming last time. You were screaming East's name," he said quietly, and Matthew looked at him in shock, gulping.

"You could h-hear me?" he said, eyes wide. The child nodded, closing his eyes as another breeze rolled between the two. Matthew wondered idly if the child could feel the wind go through his hole.

"Yes, I could hear it very clearly," he mumbled. "I'm sorry."He turned to Matthew once more, frowning, before jumping off the wall. Instead of falling, the child appeared to fly away with the Canadian watching, more confused than ever. Matthew stood up and he was on the edge of a cliff suddenly, overlooking the ocean. He sighed lightly, taking in the salty air for a moment before turning around, being faced with, of course, Gilbert. He fell onto his butt, almost scrambling back before remembering his position and standing up again.

"I hope you like to swim, Mattie!" Gilbert sang as he brought his foot up and kicking Matthew square in the chest, driving him backwards and over the edge.

Matthew woke with a falling sensation, flinching and all but flailing as he completely regained consciousness once more. No one else was in the room this time, not even his bea-

Nevermind.

Alfred came in a moment after Matthew had again realized his lose, holding a homemade plate of food.

"Hey, bro," he said nonchalantly, taking one of the many empty chairs in Matthew's room. He kept the plate of food on his lap. "The cafeteria food here sucks, so I weaseled some stuff out of Francis for ya." Matthew simply looked at Alfred for a good minute before trying to speak, finding his voice hoarse and barely a whisper from not using it. He coughed and cleared his throat, thanking his visitor in his smooth, quiet voice as he lifted the tin foil off of the meal. It was a small stack of tiny little pancakes, and he turned his head to the side as he looked tenderly at them, thinking about his Papa in the kitchen with his shoulder-length hair pulled back, wearing an apron and probably digging out the pancake mix he never used just to make these for him.

"Tell him I said thank you, please," Matthew mumbled, picking up the packaged plasticware and napkin, opening them so he could eat. He took a bite and a half-smiled curved his lips softly. "Thanks a lot." Alfred lounged in his chair, texting while his brother finished his small meal.

"So they said you passed out from exhaustion and you can go home soon," the American said, not looking up from his phone. "Get some sleep, bro. You had everyone hella worried." Matthew nodded and thanked Alfred once again after he brought his clothes in so they could leave. He got changed and followed his brother out so he could take him home to his empty house and 'go to sleep'.

Naturally, that was the thing he would do when he ran out of stuff to do.

After getting home and cleaning his house top to bottom, doing everything he could think of to be thorough enough to be called obsessive, he plopped down on his couch, decided that was the absolute _worst_ thing he could do. He was so tired.

He tipped his head over the back of his seat, dozing off after a moment.

Blood covered the walls and floor of the hallway Matthew recognized all too well. He looked down at his pale hands, finding that they were drenched in blood as well, and he was in a navy blue uniform he knew wasn't his. Booted footfalls made the floorboards creak as he stepped down the hallway, dragged the heavy footwear along. He glanced in the rooms he passed, recognizing them instantly as well, as fear welled up inside of him.

_Why was he covered in blood? At Alfred house? _

Upon reaching Alfred's closed bedroom door, he was even more scared. He gulped and put his shaky hand on the knob, turning it slowly and peaking inside. Alfred wasn't there. He let out a sigh of relief and turned around, immediately screaming at the top of his lungs as he was met with his own brother's mutilated body. He fumbled for the doorknob again and opened the bedroom door, scrambling inside and shutting the door before leaning against it, panting with fear and from screaming like that. He locked the door and his hands begun to shake again, shaken to the core from the sight of his dead brother's face smiling at him.

A shattered mirror's remains rested on the floor and Matthew accidentally crushed a shard with his boot before bending down to inspect the damage. He drew back immediately at seeing his own reflection, almost as scared as he was just a few moments ago.

That wasn't his reflection.

That was Gilbert's face.

_He was Gilbert Beilschmidt._


	6. Chapter 5

Matthew woke, feeling something trickling down his face and immediately trying to straighten his neck, finding the way he had slept creating a painful ache in the back of it. He brought his hand to his cheek, meaning to wipe off whatever liquid it was, and as he took his hand off of his face to inspect this mysterious substance, the angry, dark red that greeted him startled him a bit. He looked at his own blood, puzzled and hazy for a moment, before hopping right up and rushing to the bathroom, feeling his nose drip a bit more of his blood down his face. He licked his lips on instinct, grimacing at the metal taste of the blood as he reached the bathroom, leaning forward over the sink and grabbing a handful of tissues, waiting for it to run dry.

He cleaned his face off while he waited, still at his sink. He worried to himself if it was really Gilbert that made his body do this. He dismissed the thought almost immediately; he realized he was used to this, as the winter air sucked the humidity out of everything and made his skin clammy and breakable. Nosebleeds during winter were normal. Completely normal, for everyone. He couldn't blame such a regular occurrence on Gilbert.

It was almost done, Matthew noticed, only seeing tiny speckles of the blood left over sneak out. Someone knocked on his door and he jumped before padding out of the bathroom, still holding the tissue to his face. Surely anyone who knew where he lived wouldn't mind his appearance.

He opened the door and jumped again, seeing such a familiar face. Familiar anywhere but as this house, that is. Gilbert Beilschmidt waited on his doorstep, shivering slightly with paler skin than usual and a nice, warm pink dusting his nose and cheeks. Matthew tore the tissue from his face, a bit embarrassed and a tiny bit afraid.

"Are you alright?" came the question from the one outside as he eyed the blood-spotted wad of tissue. Matthew nodded and stepped aside, silently inviting his oblivious tormenter in from the fierce, biting Canadian winter. The platinum-haired man breathed a thank you softly as he stepped inside, shaking the snow from his boots on the welcome mat.

"I came to see if you were okay since ya passed out at the hotel," Gilbert said, shrugging his coat off and tossing it on a chair as if he was Matthew's best friend and knew he didn't care about where anything went. Matthew nodded silently, unable to find words at first.

"I'm fine," he croaked, his voice crackling from lack of use and also from just being woken up. Matthew watched as Gilbert carelessly kicked off his boots, toeing them to the corner of the welcome mat.

"Cool, that's good." He paused for a moment, as if unsure he should ask the blonde the favor he wanted. "Hey, uh . . ." he started, making sure he had Matthew's full attention before continuing."Your pancakes were awesome. Not as awesome as me, of course, but they were up there—" Matthew wasn't sure to take that remark as a complement or not "—and I was wondering if I could have some more to take back with me before I left."

"U-uh . . ." Matthew stammered, "Sure, I guess . . ." he mumbled, flinching a bit as Gilbert clapped him on the shoulder and did his odd "kesesese" chuckle before replying with a hearty "Awesome!" The blonde straightened his glasses and walked a bit stiffly to the kitchen, his self-proclaimed 'new best friend' following close behind.

As Matthew make Gilbert his pancakes, the older man stood a bit too close for comfort, watching intently and attempting to absorb exactly how Matthew made the delicious flappers. The Canadian turned slightly before pouring the last of the batter onto his skillet.

"Uhm . . . Prussia? Ca-"

"Call me Gilbert!" the German sang, not noticing Matthew's slight annoyance at being interrupted by yet another self-righteous country that would most likely forget about him in the next month. Gilbert wasn't even a country and he did it, Matthew realized.

"Okay, Gilbert . . . Uh, can you . . . Not stand so close? It's making me a bit . . . uncomfortable," the blonde mumbled softly, making the German strain to hear him.

"_I_ don't think it's too close. Plus, if I stand close, maybe you can, like, absorb some of the awesome I radiate." Matthew sighed at the slightly disappointing reply, deciding to ignore the other while he finished using the last of the batter. He put the last pancake on a plate to cool before digging out a large Tupperware to put them all in. After packing them all away and cleaning up a bit, he handed the container to Gilbert, who looked almost overjoyed.

"Sweet!" he shouted suddenly, making Matthew flinch again. The blonde held up a finger and stood on his toes, opening a cabinet and pulling out an unopened bottle of maple syrup for Gilbert to take as well. The German chuckled again, almost like he was triumphant about getting Matthew to cook him pancakes. Gilbert went back out to the living room, setting his food down on the table before picking up his boots and pulling them on and bundling himself up back into his coat.

"Bye Mattie," he said, again picking up his things and heading towards the door. "Next time I come down, maybe you can make some more for me, right?" Matthew nodded hesitantly, a bit confused over the nickname he already earned in such a short time. He watched through his window as the albino left and drove off to make sure he got out safely. The Canadian sat back down on his couch before his own stomach growled and he went back into the kitchen for some bacon.

After eating his own meal, he sat on the couch and turned on the TV, thinking that watching a bit of hockey would take his mind of Gilbert. He found himself wandering off and thinking about the man again, and he even started pondering the similarities between him and Kumajirou. Matthew pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them, thinking that he just missed the little bear too much. Maybe, after a while, he'd get a new pet . . . Like a little dog or something similar. But it wouldn't ever be the same, he concluded.

The team he was rooting for ended up losing in the end, and as he dragged himself back to his bedroom, he mumbled curses to himself as if the player could hear his displeasure as well. He climbed into bed, comfortable with going to sleep for once. His last few thoughts were of Alfred, and if he was alright. He'd call him later, when he woke up again just to check up on him. Right now he just needed a nap . . .

After being pulled gently into sleep, Matthew found himself in the same field of flowers as before, the sun just starting to rise in the horizon. He sighed at the unusually peaceful scene and again looked to the stone wall, where yet another figure sat. It was not the child this time. This one was a man.

Matthew approached with a bit of caution until recognizing the green uniform and slicked back blonde hair. He still reserved a bit of cautiousness as he sat down next to Ludwig, once again a bit uncomfortable next to him, as if the slightly shorter and stronger blonde would suddenly start yelling at him.

"Guten tag, Canada," Ludwig said stiffly, and Matthew didn't insist that the man address him as Matthew. He felt he wouldn't anyway; they didn't know each other too well, and calling him by his first name was too relaxed. The Canadian sat awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

"Hello," he replied simply after a moment, even quieter than usual. "If you excuse my asking . . . Why are you here this time?" The German turned towards him slightly, narrowing his dull blue eyes. He just stared at Matthew with a stone expression until the taller of the two looked away, becoming even more uncomfortable.

"I don't know exactly why, but I suppose it is slightly necessary that we do talk," Ludwig replied. Matthew stayed silent for a moment, staring down at his hands in his lap.

"Maybe. What are we to talk about? Do you know about . . . about Gilbert?" Matthew replied, asking the question almost hopefully. Ludwig shook his head and the Canadian sighed.

"Should I know about him?"

". . . No," Matthew replied, deciding that if he didn't know yet, he wasn't supposed to. What if telling Ludwig what was happening caused Gilbert to get angry?

"If there is something I need to know, please, I insist you tell me." Matthew sighed, only glancing up at the German for a split second.

"It's nothing you should worry yourself about. It's my problem, really. I'll find a way to fix it," he mumbled quietly. Ludwig sighed.

"Well, I suppose I'm here to tell you something, so I will." Matthew looked at him, silently letting him know that he was listening and that he had his full attention. "I don't know what significance this has to you, but I'm supposed to tell you that you'll become empowered when recognized." The Canadian thought for a moment, furrowing his eyebrows. After a moment, he realized what that could mean.

"That actually helps me a bit. Thank you," he replied quietly. Ludwig nodded at him once and then took his attention from the other, watching as the sun took the last few steps until it was free of the horizon. As soon as there was just a bit of distance from the two, the sun fell back down again, like there was a string holding it up and it had just snapped. Ludwig was gone, and Gilbert replaced him.

He looked like a skeleton, what with his skinnier than usual body and oversized shirt covering the snow white skin of his chest. His hair had no life or shine to it, and his eyes looked dead and sunken. He turned to Matthew's horror-stricken face and gave him a toothy grin that almost looked like a pained grimace. Russia suddenly appeared behind this Prussia, and Matthew watched the all-too-familiar fearful expression identical to Matthew's play across his face as the large country and his childish, creepy smile took Prussia and dragged him away, crushing and flattening flowers in his wake. The two disappeared and Matthew felt someone hook their arms under his, starting to drag him away as well.

"No!" he protested, kicking his legs as he was dragged across already crushed flowers that melted away after them until the scenery changed to what looked like a shack constructed out of metal standing alone in a dusty lot. Prussia opened the door, revealing the other Prussia that Russia had taken away, and tossed Matthew in with him before saying 'goodbye' with a borderline sadistic grin and a loud slam of the heavy door, cutting off all light and sound except for the sick Prussia's dwindling breath and his soft whimpers as he huddled in the corner and hoped that he would be let out soon, if ever.


	7. Chapter 6

Matthew's phone blared the Star Spangled Banner. Alfred was calling.

He pulled himself out of bed, groggy from his 'nap'. He had been asleep for a quite a while, and it was so early in the morning that the sun had barely risen and his confusion expanded as he realized that his older brother wouldn't ever get up before noon willingly. Worried, he picked his phone off of his nightstand and cleared his through before answering quietly, "Hello?"

"Bro, oh my god I had the weirdest dream," Alfred started, and Matthew raised an eyebrow though he couldn't see. Dreams…

"Oh? What was it about," Matthew asked, clearing his throat again.

"It was so weird, that German guy was in it and he was like, talking to me about you and it was just super weird," the American said all in a rush, much more energized and hyper than Matthew even after they had both just awoken.

"That _is_ weird…" he replied before humming softly in thought. "Well, I bet it was nothing," he lied, "Try and go back to sleep, okay?"

"Yeah, okay. I'm just still kind of wiggin' out," Alfred said before hanging up without a goodbye. Well, alright then.

Matthew got up despite the time, deciding that he'd just get a cup of coffee to compensate for his small loss. Some good food would take his mind off what was going on.

"Kumajirou," he called with a hoarse voice, padding to the kitchen slowly. He started his coffee maker and stuck the water and powder in, still waiting for his bear to come in. He remembered slowly and bit back tears once again and got a mug from his cabinet, going to start to make his pancakes already.

_Just stop thinking. Stop thinking about it._ His mind urged him, and he sniffled and swallowed before doing just that. He focused all his attention on making his food and cooked only one at a time on purpose, to drag out the action. He still finished quickly, only making a few, and sat down with his coffee. He just held it in his hands for a bit, warming up his fingers and taking a tentative sip to see how hot it was. The warmth made his nose run and he sniffled again before starting to eat.

It was about 6 am by the time he finished, and he sat at his table staring out his window, out at the snow around his house. It would be spring soon, and he smiled at the thought of when he would receive all the tulips from the Netherlands again this year. His yard would be filled with them, and his house would be warm and comfortable, and he could go outside and sleep in the woods like he liked to do. Just a bit longer, and then he could go in the lake and fish when he was bored and swim around and relax by the water and just _think. _Have alone time with just him and the water and whatever animals lived there. Just a bit longer.

Matthew was snapped out his thought by another phone call, this time Oh Canada playing, as he must have not saved a ringtone for that person. Someone new was calling him. But, why?

He got up, again confused about his phone ringing. He knew it wasn't Alfred or Francis. He didn't have many people in his contacts… But it was someone who had his number. The Canadian simply stared at his phone for a moment before answering, a bit nervous.

"Look, I don't know who this is, but I think you may have the wrong number…" Matthew said as soon as he picked up. This happened a few times before. It was the most probable thing.

"Really? This is the number I was given… Am I speaking to Matthew?" A British accent came over the phone, and Matthew tilted his head to the side, trying to figure out why in the world Arthur would call him.

"Oh, yes, that's me," the Canadian said quietly, "Sorry. So, uhm… Arthur, what do you need…"

"It's about a dream I had. That Prussian man—Germany's brother—was talking to me. About you," he said, and Matthew furrowed his brow.

"That's funny. Alfred called me just an hour ago, telling me the same thing… You guys had the same dream," the blonde said, nervousness flooding into his voice. Something was wrong. He tried to hide it from the Brit, who hummed in thought.

"That's odd. Anyway, I just felt I should call you. He was saying some weird stuff and- Oh. Peter wants to speak with you." A younger voice said "Thank you" softly as he was handed the phone.

"Hi, Matthew!" the upbeat child said. Matthew felt himself crack a smile. Hearing him so happy was nice.

"Hi, Peter. How are you?" he replied, trying to sound just as happy.

"I'm great!" Matthew smiled wider. "It's tea-time now, so I have to go. See you later!"

"Alright, bye Peter," the Canadian said before hanging up, letting his smile drop. Both Alfred and Arthur were having odd dreams? He was interrupted by yet _another _call. He picked up with a sigh.

"Ah, _mon fils_! I called a moment ago, but the line was busy. That's unusual, were you talking to someone or was your phone being silly?"

"Francis, I was talking to someone," Matthew replied, a bit hurt that he had just assumed that the Canadian's phone wasn't working.

"Oh. Anyway, my friends keep asking for your phone number. I guess I should have assumed you were speaking with someone," Francis grumbled, confusing Matthew.

"People are asking for my phone number? Well... why?"

"I have no idea, really. That why I was calling you: to ask what in the world you did to have so many people wanting to talk to you all of a sudden," Francis admitted. Matthew furrowed his eyebrows, thinking. _Was everyone having this dream?_

"U-uh, it's just something weird going on. I don't understand it myself," the Canadian replied softly, more confused than ever. "W-well, I have to go," he stuttered, "Maybe more people are trying to reach me. Bye Francis." He hung up on the Frenchman before he could get another word out.

The blonde took his phone with him to the living room, sitting in silence for a moment before turning on the TV to the cartoon channel. He pulled his knees up to his chest and sighed lightly, focusing on the old shows even he watched a little as a child. Despite what Francis said, he didn't receive any more calls until the afternoon.

Again, it was a number that Matthew didn't recognize. He picked it up hesitantly, wondering who it could be this time.

"Здравствуйте, Matvey." Matthew's eyes widened slightly.

"Oh! U-uh, M-Mr. Russia, hello," the Canadian stuttered. Arthur remembering and calling him was odd, but _Ivan._ He thought back to the time the man had accidentally sat on him during a meeting and didn't even bother to notice, let alone get up.

"Call me Ivan," the man replied, and Matthew nodded though the one on the other line obviously couldn't see.

"Y-yes, Ivan, uh… If you don't mind m-my asking, why are you calling me? And, uhm, how did you get my phone number…" the younger blonde half-mumbled and the Russian man could practically feel his uncomfortability through the phone. "Uh, did you have a dream about Prussia as well…?" Matthew was a bit surprised to hear a giggle through the phone.

"No, what an odd question. If I had a dream about him, I would call him, obviously," Ivan replied with cheer. Well, that was some logic Matthew never thought of. Surely Gilbert was getting 6 times the calls as him.

"Well, why are you calli-"

"To ask about those foods you brought to me last time we met. Yes, can you bring more, maybe to a meeting? I enjoyed them very much," the Russian said, his voice still cheery and—as Matthew liked to call it—safe.

"Oh, of course I can," he replied quickly. Naturally, he was getting calls about his food at a time like this. Just _perfect_ timing. "Well, I have to go now. I'm expecting another call," Matthew said, pushing his slightly bitter and sarcastic thoughts.

"Alright, Matvey," Ivan said in a slightly more creepy voice. The Canadian just really didn't like it when Ivan said his name. The way he said the other version of his name sent shivers up and down his spine. He hung up after they exchanged their goodbyes in their respective languages. The blonde sat in silence again before deciding to turn off his phone. Whoever would need to talk to him would have to wait a while. Matthew just wanted to take a hot shower and relax for as long as he allowed himself to.

After his shower, Matthew ended back up on his couch with a sigh. He turned on his CD player, blasting what his brother called his 'old hipster music'. A familiar song came on, one he hadn't hard in a while, and it made him chuckle darkly as he listened to the words. The song was absolutely perfect for Matthew's situation, how it spoke of puppeteers and being controlled and anarchy and not being able to move… Why was he laughing? This was no laughing matter.

Matthew turned on his phone again, finding no missed calls as he expected. He reached to set it down on the side table, and as soon as it hit the wood, it started ringing. Groaning in frustration at the timing, he picked it up and drained all the annoyance and bitterness out of his voice.

"Hello?" he answered in a dull tone. He wanted this conversation to be over already and he didn't even know who was on the other end.

"Yo, Canada. I keep getting calls from people talkin' about you. Like, is it some scandal or something? I didn't really listen to them. All I heard was your name and then my name. I can't remember anything that I've done with you that was gossip-worthy so can you tell me what in the hell is going on?" Oh goodie, a call from Prussia. Just the person he wanted to talk to. Just _wonderful._

"U-uh," Matthew stammered, "I'm not really sure either. Just listen to what they're saying for goodness sake if you want to know." Gilbert groaned.

"They're so unawesome and boring. I couldn't stand listening to them for even a few minutes, but they just kept talking until I hung up."

"If you want to know what's going on so badly, you'll just have to stand it. I told you I didn't know what is going on, so uh, bye now," Matthew spat out before snapping his phone shut. He leaned over and half-laid on the couch and his wet hair stuck uncomfortably to his face. He sighed and sat up again, heading to the bathroom. He would dry his hair and go to sleep. He woke up early this morning and napping was always a good idea. Always.

* * *

_"Maaatttieee," _someone called, and Matthew was so disoriented that it didn't even register until after a couple more. _"Damn you're boring today. Wake up, Mattie," _he insulted, scoffing quietly. Matthew did open his eyes and sat up, hands ghosting over the nightstand in search of his glasses. Upon finding them and putting them on, he blinked a few times and looked around, seeing nothing that could call him like that. He lay back down and snuggled into his bed, thanking whatever god for normality. Why was he dreaming of going to sleep, though? Nevermind. This was far from normal.

He opened his eyes again to meet ruby red ones and Matthew startled so bad that he yelped and accidentally hit Gilbert in his panic. The albino stood up straight, looking pretty astonished at the fact that _Damn, Matthew punches pretty hard._ The Canadian practically cowered behind his comforter and actually started apologizing when he spotted the bit of blood on Gilbert's clothes.

_"Christ Mattie, that wasn't you. That was there when I got here," _the German explained with a little smirk. It took the blonde a moment, but he did eventually ask _why in the hell Gilbert had blood on his clothing in the first place._ The albino had no trouble confessing that it was a bit of blood from his earlier activities. He had said he killed a man, but Matthew almost didn't believe him. He could just be trying to scare him, right?

_"No Mattie, I really did. Blood doesn't come out of the clothes I wear very easily, and I hope you at least know how much war I've been involved in,"_ Gilbert practically bragged. Yes, Matthew knew about war. Blood shouldn't be that hard to get out of clothes, though. He couldn't tell if he was being lied to or not. The blonde shook his head slightly as if to get rid of the thought. He had to ask Gilbert something.

"What are you doing to everyone? Why are they all having dreams about you," he said, sitting up all the way once more and narrowing his eyes behind his glasses. The older of the two outright laughed.

_"That's not even me,"_ he replied, thoroughly amused by the situation.

"You're a liar; if it isn't you, who else could it be?" Matthew accused, narrowing his eyes even more. Gilbert only giggled.

_"It's not me,"_ was all he said before Matthew was interrupted once more from his dream. An alarm.

He rolled over and slapped the nightstand, trying to reach his alarm clock, and heard his glasses clatter to the floor. He felt around a bit more and turned it off with a groan before reaching down and putting on his glasses. It was time to start his day. He'd figure it all out later.

* * *

**_A/N:_ **Hehe, I'm back! Surprise!

Wow, haven't updated this in a while. After getting back I got swamped with work right after my birthday, so I didn't have time to do anything.

I'm still in the process of typing up another thing, too! It's another part of Big Brother, but this time it's in England's point of view ;3

I've never written as England before, so let's hope I don't suck at it.

Anyway, shout out to the people who messaged me and told me to get my ass in gear and update! Cripes, that gave me a push to finish. It'd probably be a bit more of a wait if I didn't get those.

Well, I'll be back soon with a new story for all you lovelies and thank you all so much for sticking around with me for my longest fanfic yet~

Regrettably, with this chapter, I do have an idea for ending the story. Some of you can probably guess what I'm gonna do, huh? (It'll probably still be a few chapters. Maybe about to 9 or 10?)

Until next time~


	8. Apology

Im like 3000% sure im going to rewrite this

I only had about a few chapters left until then end but it has been so

So long

And my muse packed up and moved out a LONG time ago

Not only that but there are a lot of loose ends I didn't tie up

All in all

This is kind of a bad story and im gonna re-do it

Ill keep up the original and ill start the re-write soon enough under a new name

Sorry for such a long delay in not just posting but also saying that I was discontinuing this


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